One Two Three
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: When Snow's government institutes mandatory dancing to promote community and well-being among the Districts, Katniss is one hundred percent certain that this is the end of the world. There can be nothing more tortuous than this. Then she runs into Gale on the dance floor. — [Katniss/Gale]
1. waltz

a/n; I started this story long, long ago, and due to my superpower of procrastination (as I should be far, far from this place), I have been digging up all of my old junk that is either unfinished and unrefined, along with snippets of broken ideas that I never had the energy to finish. This one was _so close_ to being finished, so I thought what the hell. Let me finish it with my _oodles of free time that I don't have._ Guess I can't get away from this odd joy I have of using other people's fictional characters to write with to avoid my responsibilities. /shrugs

Happy reading! As always, any comments/questions/concerns are much appreciated and loved immensely.

**ONE TWO THREE**

Chapter One: year one, dance one – waltz

* * *

Katniss doesn't get it.

First off, dances are stupid. Secondly, what is the point of forcing kids to learn things they don't want to waste their time doing? Again, stupid.

Thirdly, she knows that this is some obvious Snow propaganda._ To encourage the union in each District, I am introducing a new idea. School dance lessons will be performed as an extra class to prepare for the three dances that will be held each year. _

Oh and by the way, Katniss thinks annoyed, for every dance unattended by a student, two slips of paper will be added to the Reaping! Congratulations, you're forced to do something you really don't want to do with an added consequence of an increased chance of dying.

What's new? Katniss groans, placing her head in her hands. Dancing. To promote union? She may be fifteen, but she isn't that opaque. What a _joke._

Some girls in her grade are disgustingly excited. They gush about the boys they want to dance with, the dresses they'll either buy or attempt to sew, and how they finally got the step down to whatever dance is being taught during lessons.

She feels isolated by the cult mindset, and the relief that washes through her when Madge reciprocates her feelings is so immense, Katniss could cry.

"You think this is as stupid as I do?" Katniss nearly exclaims.

Madge shakes her head, sighing. "I didn't think our lives could get any more messed up than they already are. Now this."

Katniss wants to hug her. Then she grimaces at the thought of any contact with another human being and crosses her arms. "Thank the stars. I thought I was losing my mind."

"Definitely not," Madge says, almost amused. "I have some extra dresses you can borrow if you want. I bet they'll fit, and it's one less thing to worry about."

"Madge, you're the best." Katniss can't help it. She's known Madge for three years and has said a maximum of twenty words to her until now. The possible feelings of friendship are so palpable, it makes her think she could, in all actuality, have a friend in Madge. "I'll double the portion of strawberries I bring you."

She smiles in answer. "Sounds good to me."

The mandatory dancing lessons are like having a root canal while someone stabs the bottom of your foot.

Katniss is proud of her ability to hunt, and of her quote on quote "athleticism" that the dancing instructor complimented her on, but dancing sucks. She doesn't want to do it, and even if her dancing instructor sees so much _untapped potential_ in her, it doesn't make the steps any easier for her to make herself accomplish.

"Don't you want to impress all the boys that are going to be there?" one of the girls asks her after a terrible attempt at doing what's called a waltz. Katniss looks at her like the girl's grown two heads.

"Um," she says. "No."

The girl looks affronted. "But it's so attractive if a girl can dance. Don't you want a husband?"

Katniss begins to sneer at her. Is this really what all the girls think about? It makes her feel like an alien. The thought of being married in her future gives her hives and nausea. Just look at what her father's death did to her mother. Look at the world they live in. She'd rather puke than think about being tethered to a guy.

"No," she answers again. "Marriage sounds awful. Don't you want to be independent? Especially living here."

The girl, who Katniss thinks name might be Tiffany, blanches. "Of course. But having someone to help support you, to adore you…" she sighs dreamily. "I want a boy to love me and cherish me."

Katniss lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "Your choice."

Tiffany (or Teresa?) only shakes her head at Katniss dismally. "I don't understand you, Katniss Everdeen. What else is there to live for, if not a future for yourself?"

Then she is blessedly called away to attempt the _one-two-three_ of the dance. Katniss grins when she trips.

With the first instituted dance less than a few weeks away, Katniss can already feel the high anxiety choking the lesson room. Faces are puckered in intense concentration, bopping heads to follow beats, and sweaty, slippery palms.

If there's just one thing Katniss can force herself to think as something good to come from all of this fuss, is what they call music. Apparently, it's been around for several years, recorded on special tools, and is a common commodity in the Capitol Districts. Here, in District Twelve, however, its newness is a fluffy cushion sewed around the roughened edges of the streets. It hums with a heartbeat, betraying everyone that it is a real, living being.

It's the one thing that makes these lessons somewhat bearable.

The waltz, which is the one dance being taught (for now, the instructor assures with adamant righteousness (who is, coincidentally, from District Two and has lavender curls and powder blue eyebrows)), has a gentle, simple rhythm. Each _one-two-three_ pulses with unrelenting fluidity, and even Katniss can see how this might be a pastime in other districts.

"Katniss Everdeen! It's your turn!" the instructor, whose name is Madame Corinne, sing-songs, clapping her hands as if it'll make her stand up faster.

Katniss sighs and makes her way into the middle of the room again.

"Are you excited for your first dance?" Prim asks when Katniss gets home one day out of many.

Katniss hates breaking the novelty of it for Prim, who still has a few years before she'll be able to attend a dance of her own. Then again, Prim has a different view on District life than Katniss. In some ways, Prim can see the silver lining much easier than her. While Katniss can't see Prim fawning over the different dances when the time comes like the other annoying, girly-girls, she can see Prim taking the lessons with grace and enjoyment. The boys will see her and slip on their own drool.

Katniss is not her sister. She sighs. "Not really, no."

Prim frowns. "Why not? Dancing sounds fun." She shakes her head. "It won't be like a Reaping."

She's got a point there. The only dread Katniss feels about it is being baited around and _voluntarily _asked by boys of age fifteen and up. It kind of gives her anxiety—mostly because she doesn't ever try to garner attention in her direction.

It's going to be an…experience.

"It's just something I don't care for," she says carefully.

"Oh," Prim says. Katniss can tell she's trying to understand. "Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

"Yeah," Katniss says, trying and failing to smile it away. "Maybe."

Unfortunately, it _does_ turn out to be as bad as she thinks.

They change the school's tiny auditorium (which is a concrete slab bordered by wooden, ramshackle walls) into what they call a dancefloor. There are minute decorations, like lights strung along the ceiling imitating stars acting as the main source of light, chairs covered with brightly lit cloths, some decorated with flowers, or stripes, or other abstract designs. There is a small, uplifted portion in the corner, acting as a stage of some kind, and there is a table off to the side holding a bucket full of water and a few paper cups and nothing else.

It looks like one very big try. Katniss files in line with the other girls through the entrance, packing herself into one of the chairs, fidgeting with the borrowed dress she's wearing and feeling like one big try, too.

Madge, in all her generosity, gave her a green dress. It falls just below her knobby knees, and the neckline is very modest, which Katniss appreciates. There are buttons down the front, and the entirety of her back is covered. It's a little stifling, but it's doable. Only two hours of this, she thinks. Then home free.

The boys file in at the same time, and once everyone finds a place, it starts. Kind of. A lot of them stare at each other from across the room, shifting weight on feet and acting like they could do something but won't.

They're prodded along by some music stating up from the corner stage, and Katniss can make out the four people crammed together with some sort of instruments that make noise. The tune is decent—different from the lessons, but the easy beats are there just as prominently. Katniss sits there, watching as the bolder boys come forward to ask for dances, picking girls like strawberries off a bush. She suddenly notices how beautiful some of the girls are, here in Twelve. Being able to see all of them at once is striking. She's never paid much attention before, but it's easy to pick out the pretty ones. They're the ones that get asked first, blushing and smiling.

Katniss messes with her hands, not knowing what to do with them. She wrings them, then stills them and puts them in her lap, then folds them together, then watches the couples dance, then zones out looking toward the people with instruments, unhooking her brain from the room and the girls and boys around her.

"Katniss?"

She starts, blinking away from the haze she was lost in. She looks up.

The boy in front of her is very familiar. His hair looks blonde and ashy under the dim lighting above. His eyes are thoughtful, and his stance seems a little uncomfortable. Katniss is unsettled by the idea that she might make a boy nervous.

Her memory works quickly, and she's able to identify him before it gets too awkward.

"Peeta," she says. "Hello."

He clears his throat. "Do you want to dance?"

No, her brain says automatically. She has to bite her tongue from answering that way, too. She also has to hold back a grimace.

She figures this will be her thank you for that bread he threw to her those years ago.

"Okay," she says. She stands and follows him closer to the floor. He holds his hands out in the same fashion as her instructor did during the lessons. She places her hands in them, reluctantly, and she tries to hide her cringing as she touches him. It's different—it's not bad or terrible, and her hands don't fall off, so she'll make it through this somehow—and when his hand lands on her hip, that's different, too.

He attempts to lead, and she stumbles along, stilted and stroppy. They catch each other's eyes, sometimes, and they look away just as quickly when it happens. It becomes painful after the fifth time, and Katniss resolves to stare at the juncture of where his collar hits his shoulder. She nearly burns a hole through it by the time the song finally, finally ends, and she breaks away from him as soon as it's appropriate.

"Thanks," she says, not really sure why. At least he didn't step on her toes. They actually got into a kind of rhythm. A miracle, in all respects.

"Of course," he says back. He smiles at her. She swallows and turns on her heel back to her chair. When she sits, she sinks into it like it's her safe haven. She got a dance under her belt—she should be given a trophy and be allowed to leave.

One song passes without her being bothered. But when the song after that one is about to come on, she sees _him._

One of the top five males in the school that at least a handful of girls in each age group are in love with. A hunter, trapper, and tracker—the one who occasionally traipses into her portion of the forest.

Gale Hawthorne.

Girls turn their heads when he walks by. Some flutter their lashes, and he grins wide and hungrily at the ones who do. Some look heavily expectant for him to go to them, and Katniss can imagine them trying to persuade him in their direction with their thoughts.

She holds back a gag.

She doesn't get it—he's older than her, yes. He can be considered attractive, yes. But it is such a subjective opinion among the masses. The arrogance he exudes as he walks across the floor is enough to transform any attractive features he may have into something beastly, indeed.

She feels sorry for the poor girl he asks next. She'll probably fall under whatever spell he puts on them, all fake and fabricated, forced to look on as he leaves her behind for the other, next prettiest girl. She rolls her eyes and snickers. So many of these girls, thinking a dance is a step towards a proposal.

"What's funny?"

Katniss starts for the second time. She grimaces, looking up to the person who spoke to her.

She swallows. Thinking about him behind his back is much easier than being under his very real, direct stare. She was pretty confident she was invisible to him, anyway, and when had he gotten so close to her proximity? She nearly laughs at the absurdity of it.

"Uh…" she stumbles. "You."

She doesn't mean to say that.

Gale Hawthorne's eyebrow twitches upward. "Me?"

Katniss straightens her back against the chair. She grasps for any and all confidence she can find hidden underneath her dress. It's not like she hasn't talked to him before. It's just…strange. The last time she spoke to him, it was to set up a boundary in the forest so that they wouldn't get in each other's way on hunts. It was face-to-face, only them, by themselves, and lasted a brief minute. She'd rather have nothing to do with him. Now, she can feel several stares on her from her periphery, and it makes warmth under her skin flare up to her neck.

"Yes," she says.

"What did I do?"

This has to end, she thinks. The unwanted attention is driving her up the wall, and it hasn't even been thirty seconds.

"Nothing," she says. "Don't you have to go ask a girl to dance with you?"

"Well, I was going to ask you, Catnip," he answers. "But…"

Katniss blanches at the words. Catnip. Not that again. It seems her mumbling that day caused a nickname that lingered and stuck. Figures she would embarrass herself. "No," she answers. His face at the word makes her add, "Thank you."

"You don't want—"

"I already danced," she says, as if that explains her rejection. As if she needs to explain. Though she does feel a little compelled. Rejection probably doesn't feel good to anyone, especially _Gale Hawthorne._ "You should ask Tiffany." Or Teresa, her mind says as an aside.

"But I want to ask you."

Katniss forces herself from rubbing her forehead in exasperation. "Listen, I don't like dancing, so please ask someone else."

"You danced earlier."

"Yes."

"So, dance with me."

"No."

He crosses his arms, looking at her as if she's a puzzle. Her skin itches—she can feel the stares around her multiply. He's been in front of her too long. She has to do something.

"Maybe later," she amends, quick and sharp, before he can say something else ridiculous. "Just not now."

He looks on at her for a few, achingly long moments. Then he agrees by saying, "I'll be back, then."

As soon as he turns, she sighs loudly. Bullet dodged. Momentarily. She stands up to get a drink. Her throat is suddenly parched. She chugs two cups of water, her eyes finding his head in the masses dancing on the floor.

She seriously contemplates hiding in the bathroom. Her eyes catch on his black hair again, now in the middle of the room. She knows she can't back down that way, however. That's the thing about both of them—they're predators. Katniss has never felt as dangled or helpless as she has sitting in a chair in this auditorium, waiting to just be...picked. Without having any say about it.

She thinks that's why she's been having such a terrible time with these dances. She knew it would be like this. She knew. It's too bad even the anticipation of knowing didn't help her.

She also would rather not have to deal with Gale Hawthorne, or the repercussions of hearing it from all the girls in her grade. Her eyes immediately search her vicinity, Hawthorne's head permanent in her side view just in case. She spies the blonde head she's looking for among the masses, and she slips through the other students, sneaking around to keep enough of them between her and Hawthorne.

"Peeta?" she says, coming up behind him. He turns, at first surprised. He recovers quickly, smiling at her more brightly than he should.

"For the next song, can we dance?" she asks, feeling odd. Never did she think she'd ask, but desperate times always call for these measures of desperation.

"Sure," he says, the girl he must have been talking to before glancing at Katniss. She looks a little flustered and she's frowning. She might be disappointed.

"Thanks," she says, avoiding the girl's gaze behind him, smiling tightly. Not sure what to do, she turns around and walks around aimlessly through the rest of the song. She stays close by, just in case.

When the song ends, her paranoia spikes as she catches Hawthorne glancing around the room. She ducks her head and all but pounces on Peeta. He's still talking to that one girl, and this time she has the wits about her to glare. Katniss, in unabashed glory, grabs his arm and drags him away.

Perplexed, he stares at her as she leads him straight into the dance. He stumbles a little, gaining his footing after a few seconds.

"Whoa, you must have really liked our other dance."

"Something like that," she answers, glancing around with discreet darts of her eyes. She looks at him. "We have an hour left. Better make the most of it."

He gives her a funny look before shrugging. "Yeah, I guess so. We only have three of these things a year now."

"Yeah, _only_ three."

"It doesn't sound like you're very excited."

Katniss holds back a sigh. "Just another thing to deal with in District Twelve."

He frowns at that, but he doesn't say anything. Katniss tries to think of something a little more upbeat to say, but flounders for any words. She absently glances off to her side, and her eyes attach to Hawthorne's straight across the room from her. She can't read his face from the angle and the shadows, but she might guess he looks frustrated.

_Ha._ That should take his ego down a notch. In actuality, it probably doesn't do anything at all to him. She is only _one_ girl, not _five._

She thinks about what will happen after this one dance is over, and panic floods her system. She'll have to think up another way to slip out of his clutches. She bites her lip in thought, grinding her skin with her teeth. The auditorium has no alcoves or tiny spaces to squeeze in, and it's too small to find an inconspicuous place. She hates admitting that this could be the end of her measly attempts of defying Gale Hawthorne's freakish desire to dance with her, but she can't seem to find any idea of what else to do stuck in such a claustrophobic area.

When the song ends, she has to keep herself from lodging her fingers into Peeta's shoulder. Can't use him forever, she supposes, but at least she tried.

"Thanks for dancing with me," she says, not able to keep the deflated tone out of her words.

He misreads it, because he smiles and says, "Don't worry, I'm sure I won't be the only guy who wants to dance with you." He says it jokingly, but even then, the words are funny given the situation. She gives a short chuckle, and his face turns delighted.

"Not what I'm worried about," she huffs. "But thanks anyways."

She doesn't get five steps away from him before a hand lightly lands on her shoulder. She reflexively jerks away from it, spinning around.

"Hey," Hawthorne says.

Katniss eyes him, kind of like how she stares down the prey that she's chasing on one of her hunts. "Yes?"

"It's later, now."

"I think that depends on your definition of later. I still have about an hour until _my_ later."

He grimaces. "The dance will be over by then. C'mon, just one dance."

"Go ask someone else."

"But I—"

"There are _hundreds_," she exaggerates, "of girls who would _die_ for you to ask them to dance. Go find those."

He opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed, but closes it. Then he opens it again. "If there are so many girls who will dance with me, why won't you?"

"Because I don't want to be in any way associated with you," she answers, and it comes out of her without her thinking about it.

A shadow crosses his face. "Oh."

"Yeah," she says. "So just go grab some other girl."

He blinks, looking over to the side. His lips slant in a frown toward where he's glancing, and she follows it. The line ends at Peeta and the girl he was talking to before.

Oh...her brain chugs along slowly. Oh. Yes. Peeta. She can use this to her advantage.

Or if this could even be considered an advantage. It's not like Gale Hawthorne gives an inkling of care about who she is. She mentally shrugs. Who cares? If she acts so completely disinterested in him as a person, object, or thing, then he'll fall off the radar and never bother her ever again.

Perfect.

While he's looking at Peeta, she nearly skips off toward the seat she claimed an hour ago. She happily watches the people dancing, not daring to catch Hawthorne's or Peeta's eyes, for the rest of the night.

Neither of them bother her. Peeta is occupied by the other girl, and Hawthorne takes her forceful advice and picks the girls who absolutely adore him.

The last hour of the night couldn't have gone any better.


	2. foxtrot

Chapter Two: year one, dance two – foxtrot

* * *

They call the second dance the pre-Reaping dance. It is, apparently, a dance to make the anticipation of the Reaping that much more exciting. So says Madame Corinne. Everyone else in District Twelve must have missed the memo.

The next dance is something called a foxtrot. If Katniss cared a mite for this dancing thing, she might like this one just for the name of it. It ends up being very similar in steps to the waltz, except there are four beats instead of three, and it remains blessedly simple. One thing Katniss can say that she likes is that even though dancing of all kinds impedes into her personal space, this one, like the waltz, remains a full arm length apart. It makes this next dance just as disagreeable as the first, but it doesn't make it _more _disagreeable—and that's something to be a little content about.

After the success of the first dance in Twelve, Madame Corinne's level of strictness decreased a level or two. She's even given them days off from rehearsals—something unheard of a few months ago.

Unfortunately, for Katniss, not dancing with Gale Hawthorne gave her more notoriety than if she had danced with him. It kind of goes like this: Gale _talked_ to you? Oh, my gosh, tell me _everything. _Gale asked you to dance? It must have changed your _life._

But rejecting kind of goes like this: You talked to Gale, he asked you to dance multiple times, and you said no? What is_ wrong_ with you?

Now, in the hallways of the school, the lanes of the Hob, and in rehearsals, Katniss is now known as, "The girl who said no".

Katniss sighs. At least Madge understands. She even confided that she would have said no, too, had Gale asked her. The words are comforting.

As the months pass, so do the jibes. And once everyone is a 'professional master' at both the waltz and the foxtrot, all excited about the dance and talking about the new (or old) dresses to be worn, it's suddenly the night of the actual dance.

The same feelings from the first dance are present—anxiety, irritation, and exhaustion—but anticipation rears its head up, too. Mostly because she'll be forced to face the people she always avoids, like Peeta and Gale. Never does she go out of her way to say hello to Peeta, and never had she been more aware of Gale's presence since the first dance.

She tries not to let any of the feelings bother her. She takes her seat, places her chin in her palm, and ignores talking to anyone and catching anyone's eye. She prefers, instead, to people watch, and to see if the boys are as good at dancing as the girls claim to be.

"Katniss," she hears, not five minutes into the dance. She looks up from her criticizing eye of a poor, uncoordinated fellow to the boy in front of her. Gale Hawthorne. Of course.

"Yes?" she says, not sure why. She already knows what he's going to ask.

"Dance with me."

She sighs audibly. "If I dance with you, will you leave me alone?"

He smirks as if she's not serious about the question. "I can't promise anything."

She grimaces. She can tell that he thinks he's won. It's written all over his smug little face.

"In that case," she says, placing her chin back into her palm and looking out into the crowd of dancers. "No."

His reaction is immediate. "What?"

"If you won't leave me alone, then I won't dance with you."

"I—" he begins, and it seems like he is truly at a loss for what to say. His face is so contorted that Katniss thinks he might not have ever been placed in a situation where someone told him no, a definite no, a _second_ no, in such close proximity to his face.

"How about this," he says, eventually, finally finding his footing. Katniss glances up to him, dubious. "If both of us don't get picked for the Reaping this year, you dance with me at the celebratory dance after." He grins. "Then after that, I promise, I won't dance with you." He pauses, then adds with a knowing smile, "Unless you want me to."

Katniss bites the inside of her cheek. It's an interesting offer. It strangely holds merit—ignoring his smug, thinking-he-knows-it-all face. Underneath that, he seems sincere in the way that he says it. Even though she'd like to never dance with him _and_ not have to deal with the other girls _and _keep him away from her—it seems she can't get a better way out of this without submitting herself to a dance. As much as she'd like to step on his pride and say no forever, let's be honest, even Katniss knows Gale's pride can't be deflated that easily.

"Okay," she says, deciding. It stings, but not as much as she thought. "Deal."

She can't say he lights up, like Peeta seems to do, but his features soften in satisfaction. He doesn't flaunt, but she can feel the waves of victory roll off him. It hits her like metal batons to the face. "Great. Have fun tonight, Katniss."

He turns and slips into the crowd. Katniss unconsciously keeps tabs on him all night, if only because she's still suspicious of his motives.

But what do you know. He keeps his word.


	3. two-step

a/n; thank you for the reviews!

Chapter Three: year one, dance three – two-step

* * *

The last dance of the year that they learn is a two-step. The easiest of all dances, funnily enough, considering everyone is miles better at stepping with beats than they were during those months ago when learning the waltz.

Madame Corinne says she decides on this one to show everyone the progress they've made and how proud of everyone she is. The mini speech she makes one day, a week before the Reaping, seems a little weighty. It seems even the minuscule charm that the kids have in Twelve has gotten to her. With each passing day in that week, Madame Corinne loses small increments of her luster, melancholy creeping over her features like a worn blanket.

Perhaps that's the reason for such an easy dance. Everyone is too distracted most days to completely concentrate on any of the steps. Even when practicing the old dances, missteps are littered all around the floor.

Once the Reaping happens, Katniss is relieved to say her and Madge are still standing. Peeta is, too, and fortunately or unfortunately depending on her mood, Gale squeaks by to live another year of life.

Nevertheless, Katniss is light-hearted enough afterwards to not even mind that she'll have to finish her deal and dance with him. It might even be nice to celebrate the chance of one assured year of life (at least, before having to watch the games) with the silliness of dancing.

She can't be bothered to be disgusted with her line of thought. She puts on another borrowed dress, light blue this time, kisses the top of Prim's head, and walks out the door to the auditorium, smiling slightly at knowing no one she associates with is going to (more than likely) die in a few days.

When she files in behind other girls—many have put more effort in their appearance tonight, more with make-up, more with fancier hairdos—she forgoes taking a seat. She feels rejuvenated tonight. Energetic, even. It's almost euphoric. That's why it's not daunting in the slightest to catch her eye on Gale, across the room under the dim lighting. She inhales enough to make her lungs feel large and full and walks over to him.

He's already busy flirting with a girl, so she taps his shoulder to get his attention. He's surprised when she's in front of him.

"So, one dance," she says.

It takes him a second before he nods. "Yeah," he answers, a smile inching up his cheek. "One dance."

He doesn't say goodbye to the girl he was talking to as he—unnecessarily—takes Katniss' hand to lead them onto the floor. Katniss damps down her annoyance at him linking their fingers together, just for this night, and refrains from snapping her hand out of his grip.

This_ is _the only time it will happen.

Gale leads her into the two-step as the music starts. He gently handles her hip and her free hand, and she lightly rests her other on his shoulder just as Madame Corinne taught them. His confidence in the steps are pronounced and direct, the sensation of it surging through her with striking immediacy.

"This is kind of nice, isn't it?" he says. "Surviving another year and being able to enjoy it."

"I suppose so," she answers. "It's hard to celebrate anything about the Reaping and the Games."

"True," he pauses. "But in the end, I got to dance with you."

"Congratulations."

"I'm serious," he says, eyeing her. It makes her uncomfortable, but not the kind of uncomfortable she's used to. "I had a lot of slips in the bowl. I had a feeling that you might have jinxed me by saying you'd dance with me if I made it."

Her eyebrow raises. "How many times were you in there?"

He hesitates. "The odds aren't in my favor, that's all."

"It's really that bad?"

"My family is big."

"I'm in twelve times," she says, as if that'll jam up his reluctance and lure out his answer. Instead, he frowns.

"I thought you hunting would have helped more," he says, the words coming out softer than the previous ones. No one talks about trespassing openly.

"I would have thought the same for you."

He sighs. "We can only do so much." He seems to come to a conclusion, and after two more one-two-one steps, he says, "I'm in thirty times."

Katniss almost chokes. Thirty? No wonder he had a hard time admitting it.

"Oh."

"Could be worse," he shrugs. "I could not know how to hunt. I could have more slips in there if that were the case. I'm in better shape then some."

Yeah, _some_, she thinks. A very doubtful some. Probably more like only a few. She holds back a shudder at the thought of having her name, black and vulnerable against so many white slips of paper.

"Is that why you flirt with all the girls like you do?" she asks, suddenly curious. "Because of your…"

At the question, he smiles a little. It's puzzled, as if either he wasn't expecting her to ask a question like that to his face, or because he's never thought about it before.

"Partially," he answers with slow words. "I do it because it's fun. It isn't serious," he says, as if that would make her view of him any better. "I figure my life might not be as long as I'd like it to be, so I try to be as active as possible. Plus, it's easy. The girls make it easy."

"So you do it because it's easy?"

"And fun," he adds.

"Because your odds aren't good."

He shrugs. "Right."

"No one's odds are any good, no matter how many slips. One slip can end a life. It doesn't make much of a difference."

"Well, a lot of those names are cushioned by mine," he says back, a vein of anger flashing through him. She sees it as well as feels it, in the way his fingers dig into her hip. It's only a moment, and it passes quickly. The anger vanishes into the grin he gives her. "Plus, a lot of girls think it's brave. Protecting my family's lives by sacrificing my own."

Huh, she blinks. He's just as shallow as she assumed he was. She feels, for whatever reason, the slightest flash of disappointment.

"What?" he asks. She realizes too late that she's frowning.

"Nothing."

"No, really. Do you not agree?"

She pauses, debating. She could be truthful…or lie. But she's always been pretty bad at lying, and this _will_ be the only time she dances with him. Or speaks with him, if she's honest with herself. "No."

He purses his lips. "I'm enjoying my life my own way."

"I know," she says. "You have every right. But you should probably be careful. A lot of girls I know might mistake it for something else."

He makes a face. "I'm aware."

"I guess I thought you might be—different."

She had his interest before, but the intensity of it has spiked. "Different?"

"Yes…" she trails. "Everyone—well, most of the girls, anyway—thinks you're this great, amazing guy. I think…" she hesitates, wishing she didn't put herself in this position. Why did she start talking about this, anyway? "I guess I thought you'd live up to their descriptions. All these girls can't say so many wonderful things about you and all be wrong. But…you're conceited and shallow, just like I thought you were."

His face darkens a little. He looks insulted. She wishes desperately she could hide her face—but it _is_ what she wanted to tell him, so why does it feel so terrible now that she has? He'll get over it. He's Gale Hawthorne, the _altruistic family man_ of District Twelve. Her opinion won't matter to him, and it shouldn't. She is Katniss Everdeen, and they run inside very different circles on the outside of this auditorium.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, then," he says, his tone far from apologetic. It rubs at her skin like sandpaper. "Expectations and reality never really overlap, do they?"

She swallows. "That's why I didn't want to dance with you," she says, trying to talk her way out of this situation. She's already socially impaired without any help. She should probably just end the dance now, but she knows she can't.

Where's her bravery when she needs it?

She flounders. "I was afraid you wouldn't be who I was hoping you'd be."

"Then you were right to be afraid. I was never going to measure up."

The music is starting to dwindle. She sees the hurt in his face, though it's hidden underneath his anger. It's barely there—she's surprised she's able to see the wound of it underneath the shield of his skin. It's funny, she thinks off-hand, how emotions ripple through someone like waves on the sea.

She stutters. "I'm—I'm sorry."

"You're not," he says. "But that's fine. You're not what I was hoping for, either."

_That_ strikes her like a slap. "You were _hoping_ for something?"

He smiles crookedly, and she can dare to say she can see the ghost of whatever the other girls find attractive. His eyes gleam with a bursting passion, and it's a little menacing. It's a little powerful. "Of course I was. Why do you think I wanted to dance with you so badly?"

Her insides chill. He has a point, as misplaced as the point is.

"Oh," she says, lamely. "I don't know. I just thought you were checking me off your list."

"Ah, my list. How did you know about my list?"

He's being sarcastic. "Look," she says, not sure why she's still trying. This isn't a battle she can win, and her fight or flight instinct is through the roof. And yet, she has to look him in the eye and fight with him. She _has_ to. She's too stubborn to try to stop. "_You're_ the one who said it's never serious."

"Not always," he says, dully. The music is close to being over. She can feel it in the background because she can't hear it. Her heart is beating too loudly, too hotly. "But maybe, I thought this one time, it could have been."

She blinks, her brain sparking like frayed ends of a cable. _"Why?"_

"Why not?" he answers her. "You're Katniss Everdeen, the only other person I know who hunts. Who breaks the rules for her family. Who I thought was _somebody."_ He shrugs, and she can tell that he's finished with whatever he's hoping. "It turns out that you're kind of a disappointment, too."

The song is over. She stares at him, too shocked to feel hurt. Definitely too shocked to keep her jaw off the floor. He lets go of her hip and her hand, and she lets go of his shoulder. He didn't step on her toes, she thinks out of the blue. He isn't clumsy and didn't break his stride at all, even when angry and passionate and sad.

He walks away when she doesn't say anything. He doesn't give her one last, meaningful glance. He merely leaves her with his words. She watches his back fade into the broken crowd, wondering for the first time how someone she doesn't care about—someone who's opinion she doesn't think matters in the slightest—can rip right through her like paper.

She notices he had been happy, underneath his shock, when she appeared before him to dance. She made Gale Hawthorne happy for a brief second in his life. Then she smothered it. She is the predator after all. She survives.

She's always been pretty good at that. She's not sure why it feels like it matters, now, on the evening after a Reaping.

It's never seemed to matter before.


	4. tango

a/n; I never mentioned this before, but I'm not a dancing expert and only know what I know from cursory studying on the internet. Wanted to throw that disclaimer out there in case I got anything wrong with descriptions of the dances.

Chapter Four: year two, dance one – tango

* * *

A few months later, and Katniss finds herself in the auditorium again, dancing a pointless dance called a tango. A_ ballroom _tango, Madame Corinne's voice inside her head corrects.

"This is a simplified version of the original type of tango," she had told them all on the first day back in rehearsal, after the Games had ended. "So that you children can attempt something that takes _years_ for a professional dancer to master."

This is the first dance that had the option of getting closer to your partner, which Katniss is absolutely petrified of, but space in between is still allowed for it, if a person so chose. That little fact is her saving grace. She can't stand breathing in someone else's breath. There is also much more emphasis on leading and following, and the aggressiveness is indeed something to get used to.

It's a level up, that's for sure. It demands more confidence and more surety of movement. It forces the boys, more than the girls (though the girls must build their self-confidence as well), to be bold, self-assured, and poised. At least, in theory. It's hard to accomplish one of those things from a teenager, let alone an entire District full of them.

The expectations for the dances are higher in this second year, as well. Since the first was only an experiment, and a success according to Snow and his advisors, the second would be monitored more closely. More Peacekeepers will be stationed in and around the auditorium walls, Madame Corinne will be watching the dances to make sure everyone is in full cooperation and fulfilling the dances correctly—not that this is anything new. She has been there the first dances, too, but had been drinking and laughing with the other teachers in the background instead of actually participating in the affairs of the students.

But the worst thing to be put in place? The absolutely worst idea any advisor of Snow's or Snow himself could have had? Each student can only sit out a total of three times. _Three_. That's_ it_. Katniss sat out more than half of the dances the preceding year. Now, she'll be forced to dance for nearly _two hours straight._ When she heard of this news, she thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to put her name in the Reaping two more times. Gale's was nearly three times as bad as hers—surely she'll be fine. He'll cushion her names with his, isn't that what he said? He'll be the perfect gentleman. It's nearly the equivalent of saving her from a burning building.

Alas, it doesn't happen that way. Her mother forbids any notion of the sort—and she only heard wind of it from Prim, the traitor. Never is she going to complain to Prim again about sacrificing her life more than she has to. Now, here she is, dancing with Peeta, attempting a tango-like dance, and feeling much too aware of all of the Peacekeepers standing vigil along the walls. It feels like they have an audience now. It's unsettling. She blows a few stray bangs out of her eyes in frustration.

"You think any of them are taking a nap?" Peeta asks her, following her glance to the walls.

She shakes her head. "I wish all of them were."

"It does make this kind of…weirder than it normally is."

Yeah. Weirder is _one_ word for it.

"I don't understand why this is such a big deal. We're dancing."

"Who knows," Peeta says, smiling slightly. "Maybe they think we'll start a riot by dancing uncontrollably. That'll show them."

Katniss cracks a small smile at the thought.

She ends up dancing with way too many boys, floating along and trying to not think about it too hard. It's kind of like a ladder, the next open, partner-less boy an empty rung that she grapples onto. She dances with tall boys, short boys, older boys, the boys in her homeroom class, and boys she's never acknowledged to exist (most of which she doesn't know the names of, which in turn make her slightly embarrassed when they know her name and she can't remember what their name starts with). They're almost all more talkative than she is, more direct in aimless conversation, and she's never been so okay with her complete lack of ability in initiating small talk.

It isn't all bad—some of the boys are pleasant and amiable. The few that are as quiet as she are the dances that become slightly awkward and painful, but other times, she doesn't feel uncomfortable. She relishes these moments when they occur, as they are few and far between. You'd think after a year of this she'd be fine, she thinks with annoyance. But then, it's not the easiest thing to hold a dozen sweaty hands for two hours.

Once she finally finds her stride through the ladder rungs, nodding a goodbye to the last boy and nearly feeling good enough to smile, she runs into the next boy without a partner.

"Would you like to—" she begins to say. If a boy doesn't start to ask or notice her (they usually don't, she's so efficient in grabbing them), she'll ask them first. The same five words over and over again. _Would you like to dance?_

It's too bad that all the Seam boys look the same from behind. Gale turns and looks down at her, eyebrows raised at the half-question before they both realize they are who they are and are, in fact, standing so close. His stare turns from surprise to distaste, and she takes a giant step backward. She accidentally hits someone, and she apologizes under her breath without turning around.

They become rooted in a glaring battle.

"Would I like to what? To dance?" he asks, finishing her question with a sneer. "I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I've already checked you off my list."

Her jaw grinds together, her teeth vibrating like loose gravel in her skull.

"No," she says, liking to think she exudes ferocity from her pores. "I was going to ask if you would like to move out of my way so that I could dance with someone decent."

He raises his hands in a mock display of defeat. "Wow, I don't think I can recover from the rejection," he says, then slips around her. She's so shocked that he doesn't put up a fight that she whirls on him.

"Hey!" she calls, her body acting on its own.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. She stomps up to him, drawing herself up to full height and landing right on the dip of his collarbone. "You didn't even fight back!"

His lips part, curved in a befuddled line. "Was I supposed to?"

She blinks, her sudden burst of indignation fading into nothing more than a dull spark. Self-preservation rears up in her belly like a reprimand. _Katniss! What are you doing?_ "I—I guess not."

She averts her eyes, feeling so awkward and so out of place, and who knows why she can't simply walk away. He eyes her, stares at her, and the staring makes it much, much worse. Like he's _thinking_. She fidgets, struck dumb for a second. Then she ducks her head, forcing her way through a clogged path to an empty chair before the music begins to play.

She blows out the bangs from her eyes and shoves her chin in her hand, resting her elbow on her knee. How embarrassing. Why is she like that? Wanting to pick a fight for absolutely no reason?

"Katniss," someone nice pipes up beside her. She feels an easy sense of relief as she looks to the side.

Peeta takes a seat next to her. "Break time?"

More like break time from shame. "Yeah, I suppose so. You too?"

"Yeah. I keep stepping on every girl's toes," he laughs. "The tango is complicated."

She agrees. The tango is a lot of movement, a lot of pressing forward and back. Madame Corinne would lament about how children couldn't understand the complexity or the concepts (and how nearly the entire population of school children chose the large-space-in- between tango instead of the closer, more intimate tango). Her scolding burns in her ears even now. _Katniss, longer strides. Katniss, keep your shoulders back. Katniss, where is the romance in your hold?_

She grunts at her thoughts. It's hard enough to concentrate on doing all the steps correctly, let alone adding any type of emotion to them. How does one go about doing that? Madame Corinne will say, _reach inside yourself._ And Katniss has no idea how to do that without throwing up.

"I'm no good, either," she sighs. The boys she's been dancing with are mostly the same. Unsure, stilted, robotic. Just going through the motions as she is. A few would take the lead better, and some would even let her fall into a couple of dips. Those are terrifying—yet also, it hurts deeply to admit, fun.

The dance is only as good as the partners, she thinks. Some boys are better at spinning, better at the strides. Some are even, dare she say, _confident_. Only handfuls have stepped on her feet, which is probably a definite improvement to the first year. She wouldn't really know—she only danced with a few the past year. Too bad she can't add to their improvements at all.

"You're not all that bad," Peeta says, smiling at her. She gives him a look. He laughs and caves. "Okay, you're not the _worst_. Trust me."

Hard to believe, but she only shakes her head. "Gee, thanks."

He looks at her for a second. The music has already been playing for a while, but he says, "C'mon, let's dance again, see if we've improved in the last hour."

She rolls her eyes, but it's light-hearted. She finds herself unable to refuse.

It turns out they haven't improved. The stumble around, and Peeta tries not to step on her toes, and she tries to gain rhythm from the music around her, but they fail and laugh while they're failing.

It's fun, and when it's over she thanks him. He might blush, but Katniss isn't worried about that. She's amazed that she's in a good mood from _dancing_ of all things.

Then again, she thinks, it seems a lot of things depend on the partner you have.

She floats along, after that, falling into the comfort of her new habit. Her mood propels her through the dances, and they no longer feel tedious. She compares them for fun, noticing different quirks and mannerisms. She compares the feel of their holds and the pressure of their hands. What shocks her most is that she can even feel a difference in the energies between them, too. What once always felt like an uncomfortable cloud of body heat cushioning the distance now has a strange, interactive feel to it. Some are cold and closed off, but some are open and warm. Some upbeat, some blasé. Withdrawn, fully immersive.

She inevitably stumbles upon Gale again—it turns out that there are only so many males present in the area—and she opens her mouth. She intelligently says…nothing. She feels a distinct likeness to a fish. His eyes pass over her, like they had earlier that evening, and he opens his mouth and says, "It's gonna be the last dance."

His face is set in some type of determination, and his chest rises in a breath. "So, uh, you want to dance? For the hell of it."

_For the hell of it_. A thought dashes through her mind, something Teresa (or Tiffany, she's got to figure out her name soon, this has gotten ridiculous) said, praising Gale on his supposed smooth talking ways. Her lips nearly quirk in a smile at the absurdity. Yeah, she might even _swoon_. For the hell of it.

"Guess it won't kill me," she mutters under her breath. A year ago the words would have floored her. Dancing _wouldn'_t kill her? She _wouldn't_ want to hide in the bathroom?

Regardless of the partner, though she does wish it isn't him (and a thought niggles in the back of her mind that she told herself this would never, ever happen again, so help her—but she ignores it), she's not in a terrible state of remorse about it. It's the residual lingering of her good mood. She thinks of Peeta for a second, experiencing a pang at the loss of a fun, enjoyable last dance of the season.

This one won't be fun, and she should go find Peeta because Peeta _will_ make it fun.

Instead, she lets him lead her to a less crowded area, and they take up their respective positions and hand placements. Oddly enough, she feels a little anxious glancing at his steely face and eyes. It's how his words affected her last time, she thinks, biting the inner meat of her lip. It's because she still feels raw about that, being so honest with him—a stranger, in all respects. Judging him by word of mouth. Then going up to him earlier this evening to build up some kind of argument, rub up against the wound to make it deeper. She doesn't understand herself, sometimes.

The fact of the matter is, she knows she needs to apologize. She stares up at him, looking off at something interesting to the far side of the room, and is intimidated.

Another fact of the matter is that she's always been a bit awful at it. Her eyes fall to his collar. It's pale blue, the left lip curled in a cotton sneer. It reminds her of Prim's little duck tails, and she absently flicks the lip down.

Gale notices. "What are you doing?"

"Uh," she squeaks, then clears her throat. "I, uh, fixed your collar."

He merely looks at her. She glances away to his shoulder, then her eyes make their eventual way down to their feet. They're moving well, somehow. She has no trouble following him and the lead he sets. The space between them isn't as large as she would like, but she's found that it varies with each partner.

Her face bunches up. She fidgets in a continuous spasm until she's able to say, "About earlier…" Though she's not sure if earlier means earlier tonight or earlier at the last dance.

Gale, however, needs no distinction. "It's forgotten."

She almost snorts out loud. As if. He must notice, because he says, "Really. Don't worry about it."

She looks up at him, is intimidated again, and looks away. She can't seem to make herself catch courage. Isn't it like a yawn? She glances around, trying to be inspired by some boy and some girl doing something meaningful—but she doesn't find it.

As if to prove his point, he changes the subject entirely. "You're not a bad dancer."

She jerks her head at him, and she almost chokes. "Oh, I'm terrible."

"I saw you dancing almost all night."

She shakes her head, the mirthful tone spilling out of her. "Doesn't mean I'm good. I only did it because I can't sit out the whole time anymore." She glances out to the audience of Peacekeepers. The glass face pieces shine back.

"Must have been good practice. I don't think you're bad."

She can't hold back an eye roll. "Tell that to Madame Corinne."

"Madame Corinne wouldn't be impressed even if you were a professional."

"What about you?" she asks, and her voice edges into that condescending tone it likes taking on when she's around him. "I bet she thinks you're so—"

It's miraculous when she halts herself. _I bet she thinks you're so great like every other girl on the planet _just doesn't seem like the best choice of words to use, and her brain is ahead of her mouth for once.

"You bet she what?" he says. It doesn't seem to matter. His eyes gain a mean glint to them. "Thinks I'm good? I forget that you know everything about me."

She bites her tongue, hard, but she still can't keep herself from spewing, "Look, will you drop it? I wasn't—you said it was forgotten, okay?"

He glances out above her head. "Fine."

They're silent for ten, very long seconds. Katniss feels her stomach slowly eating itself.

"She hates me," he says after the short eternity. "Madame Corinne, I mean."

Katniss would be lying if she said she wasn't relieved at how calm his voice is. She sighs.

"Really?"

He nods. "I have potential that I don't use, according to her."

Katniss blinks. "She says that to me all the time, too."

"And even when you get something right, there's something else you get wrong."

She shakes her head. "Exactly. I get the steps, but I don't have any rhythm."

"That's funny—I've got the rhythm, but the steps take me a little longer."

She glances down at their feet again. She's not sure she believes him. "You lead well. Without that, I'm usually useless by myself."

She misses the look he gives her as she watches their bottom halves move. "Just listen to the music," he says. "It's my favorite part about this whole thing. Everything about the music," he nods toward the three people on the makeshift stage, "is free. We don't have to move the way they want us to. We could do whatever we wanted. It's not like they can beat us for dancing wrong since…well, they implemented it in the first place."

The thought has never crossed her mind before. She glances toward the Peacekeepers, new light shed across their meaning.

"Is that why they're here, now, watching us this time?" she whispers. "Do you think they'll start to punish us when we move wrong?"

His eyes shadow, a veil falling across his features like a thunderous cloud. "If they do, what would be the point? This is supposed to pacify us."

"What do you mean? Pacify us?"

"To make us feel like we have some kind of control," he shakes his head. "Choosing who we dance with, socializing, giving us this feeling of hope…" he trails. "That's…that's how it makes me feel, anyway. Giving me a hope of a future, dancing like this."

Katniss can't, for the life of her, understand these feelings. Dancing can be fun—she's felt that, the fleeting burst of merriment in what she used to dread in totality. But to take away so much from simple movement and steps?

She looks at Gale, possibly stares at him like he had stared at her before. She thinks she might see some of him—who he really is—in this quiet, sheltered moment.

He's glancing off to the side, toward the wall of Peacekeepers. "I could be wrong," he says when she doesn't reply. "It's because I like this like I like hunting. And hunting is illegal."

She gives an abrupt laugh, and he looks as startled by it as she feels. "I…see what you mean. This being Snow's idea makes it kind of…fishy."

His lips turn up in a half-smile. "I think I just want a rebellion, is all."

She chokes, hissing out a whisper. "Don't say that! Are you crazy?"

At this, he really smiles. The music begins to get louder, and he jerks his head toward it. "Look, I'll get you into the rhythm."

"But you're leading and that's the same thing!" she splutters, unnerved at the sudden change of pace.

"Hardly," he says, and she's thrown into the other tango—_the close, intimate tango_. Her throat is restricted while her mind is all mush and befuddlement, his lead too authoritative to counter. All she manages is a yelp while her feet struggle to keep up.

"But—" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"Go with the flow," he says, and this must be where the _smooth _comes in. They're chest to chest now, going forward and backward and turning. Following the music? Yeah, right. She can hardly concentrate on the music when so focused on the routine that is not the rehearsal room anymore. It is their own, and it's new.

She becomes breathless in no time, and it doesn't help that her chest pushes against his every time she gets some air in her. And the air she does get is _his_ air, and it's unsettling._ Unsettling_. Her heart begins to thud against her sternum, the small of her back becoming slightly damp with sweat. Couples in her periphery seem to zoom by, and she starts panicking.

_We better not hit anyone, or I'll…_

She's actually not sure what she'll do if they hit people.

He glances down at her face, and his eyes fill with pure amusement and that _passion_. "Fun, isn't it?"

"_No_," she gasps, but he either doesn't listen or ignores her, because he leads her into one more twirl, then a second, a marathon of steps running along with the crescendo of the music, and then as abruptly as this all started—

It's over. The music ends, and Katniss is digging her fingers into his shoulder for dear life, his other hand more than likely turning blue from lack of circulation. She huffs, shakes her head, and peels her nails away. She takes a cautious step backward,_ not_ that she's afraid that she'll lose her balance or embarrass herself or anything of the sort. Being cautious is being safe, after all.

People are beginning to disperse now that it's over. A few couples linger, a few even leave together, and she's not sure if she's noticed that before. "Uh," she starts, realizing that he's staring at her again. She rubs at her arms, detecting a discomforting chill from the cooling sweat on her back. That's what she blames her goosebumps on. "Well, I danced with you again," she announces.

"Yeah," he says. "I thought you'd say no."

Not knowing what to say to that, she shrugs. "I thought I would, too."

"I'm glad you didn't."

She wraps her arms tighter around her waist. He's being nice, and she doesn't know why. It makes the guilt build up like bile in her throat, and she throws up a few messy words. "I'm sorry, you know. About assuming. It was unfair."

He only shakes his head. "Don't be. You were right on a lot of things. I never get called out about them, and it hurt my pride. I got mad." He gives a short laugh. "Hearing it from _you_ is what really got me, because you didn't know a single thing about me. Then it turned out you did."

"Oh," she mumbles. She takes a breath, and she doesn't realize that she's worried about it until she asks, "Were you really disappointed?"

His face slackens, and it's worrisome in the seconds he doesn't answer straight away.

"No," he draws out. "Not anymore."

Something about the transpired dance and this conversation following it makes her nervous. "Okay. Good. Then I'll see you next time."

His mouth parts and he reaches out, but she swivels on her heel and dashes. She doesn't stop until she's out the door and enfolded into the chilled, nighttime air.

She isn't inhaling his presence anymore. The mere acknowledgment of that fact defogs her mind, and she can think clearly.

What is _happening_ to her?


	5. salsa

Chapter Five: year two, dance two – salsa

* * *

The next dance is called a salsa.

"Not to be confused with the sauce!" Madame Corinne titters, but no one understands the joke and answer with blank stares. She clears her throat and continues on.

Since they're all seasoned veterans, now—as cheekily described by Madame Corinne—they're moving on to more complex rhythms and fancier footwork. Katniss isn't sure why Madame Corinne is expecting so much from them. It's only the fifth dance coming up, and Katniss barely got the easier version of the tango in time.

The other dances felt like a chore, after a while. This one feels like work.

Madame Corinne showcases the dance before taking them through it, showing them the examples of the steps and the counting for each. Those are easy.

"Make sure to shift your weight forward when you step forward and back when you step back," she tells them, demonstrating. "Lift the ball of the other foot up just slightly. One-two-three—five-six-seven—just like that, my beautiful pupils!"

Once they begin practicing themselves, Madame Corinne runs around, fixing hand placements and coaching them on the style.

"Boys, make sure you place pressure on the girl's hand to lead! And girls, you must give resistance back! I want to see flow!"

It's a bit of a headache. Once Katniss gets the first steps down, Madame Corinne shows them different turns and spins.

"Let your hips sway with the weight shift! Relax your shoulders, bring them away from your ears! There can be no rigid spines in this dance. Stay loose. Movement is key!"

Needless to say, the first practice is a test of patience and terribleness.

"There's a lot of movement in this one," Peeta says, coming up to her at the end of rehearsal. "It feels kind of impossible. The leading is more intense than the last one."

Katniss agrees and involuntarily thinks of Gale. She never thinks about him outside of the dances, but she thinks he'll become very proficient in this dance. It has the rhythm he likes—fast and upbeat. It's complicated. Right up his alley.

"We always end up being decent," Katniss shrugs in answer. "Madame Corinne will somehow force us not to fail."

"Maybe she'll imbue us with magic?"

"Or poison," Katniss says. "So we don't embarrass her."

After the last dance, Katniss noticed more couples forming. She noticed more giggles and happiness than she has noticed in…well, in her entire time living on earth. Nobody kept up with who danced with who as much, either, now that the new installation of dancing rules was put into motion. Now that everyone has to dance the majority of the time, it's become less and less of who-asked-who and more of who seeks out who?

Even Teresa—that's her name, not Tiffany—has been caught up with the attention of a boy in their class. She hasn't harassed Katniss about their differences of opinion ever since the last dance. It's a bit shocking, and it makes it all that much more obvious that things in the District are changing.

To think that dancing, of all things, could bring people together in such a way. It baffles Katniss to no end.

During the next practices, she watches as the newly minted couples pick one another to practice the steps with. Some are shy, concentrating on their steps, blushing when they touch or bump each other wrong. Some look comfortable, like they're good friends, laughing at how abysmal they are at the rhythm.

Others look like her—disinterested, stilted, and slightly out of place.

Prim, like every time before a dance, asks her if she's excited about it. She'll get to go to her first dance next year, while her first Reaping will be this year. It's almost as if surviving the first Reaping is a rite of passage to be able to dance—it doesn't make sense, but not a lot of things make sense if Katniss spends the time to think about it.

"I wouldn't say excited," Katniss says. "But it has become more bearable."

Prim smiles at that. "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say dancing was anything but intolerable."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "Once you have to go to the mandatory practices, it_ has_ to become tolerable."

"I'm waiting for the day when you come to love it," Prim says matter-of-fact.

"You'll be waiting forever," Katniss says, flicking her playfully in the arm.

The dance comes soon enough, and Katniss feels woefully unprepared even with the endless practices.

Madge must read her face as they file into the auditorium, because she leans over to her ear, whispering, "Don't worry. We'll successfully stumble around like we always do."

Katniss wrinkles her nose at her. "Says you."

Madge is disgustingly graceful. She's never stumbled through a dance. She always has a new dress that's as delicate as her skin and pretty as her face. Still, Katniss wonders why she's so nervous. She rubs her palms down the skirt of the dark, maroon dress she's wearing. It's Madge's, like usual. She's faithfully let Katniss borrow all of her old dresses since they're the same size. It's a miracle they aren't much different in build, but Katniss tells Madge every dance that she doesn't need a dress. The one she wears at the Reaping is just fine and it's all she needs, but Madge insists, every dance, that she has more than any girl should have.

So Katniss sits in one of the chairs lined down the wall of the dilapidated auditorium, in a dress that is too nicely made for her, feeling strangely full of nerves.

_What is my deal? _She bites the meat of her inner lip. She messes with the lace surrounding the bodice and skirt.

Once the music finally starts and people begin to move, Katniss is too jittery and jumps up from her seat, dancing with the first boy she runs into.

She falls into the same rhythm as the last dance, jumping to and fro each partner in a chaotic line. She's surprised at how her feet begin to do what Madame Corinne had been telling them to do, following the one-two-three—five-six-seven beat of the steps. Some of the boys are even brave enough to take her into spins and turns. This time last year, no one dared to stand any closer than an arms-length apart. Everyone was either terrified, blasé, semi-confident, or the few scattered around with natural boldness. Now, most everyone acts like it's never been any different, like the dances have been part of their lives for more than two years.

The invasion of personal space is not so terrible with the salsa. It could be much worse—and it can be much worse—but that's what the 'professionals' do.

Peeta finds her a few times, and they happen to not be as bad as the had previously.

"I think I'm proud of us," Peeta laughs after the second dance together. Katniss smiles and realizes she may actually be enjoying herself.

It's into the second hour when Katniss finally bumps into Gale for the first time all night.

"Katniss," Gale greets her. "I haven't seen you."

As he smiles down at her, she notices the wad of anxiety she had felt earlier in the evening reappear like an avalanche. It thunders through her blood, and she's shocked that it may have been the anticipation of seeing him again.

"I've…been dancing."

"Yes, that's what we do at dances," he says, raising a brow at her. "So, come on. Let's dance."

Before she can say anything, he grabs her arm and whisks her into the middle of the dancefloor, settling in between the couples that are already occupying the space.

"You've gotten better," he says a minute after they start. His movements mimic Madame Corinne's commanding tones. _Resistance in the hands. Sway your hips. I want to see flow!_

"Uh, thanks," she mumbles. "When we first started learning this dance, I knew you'd be good at it."

"Really?" he asks, leading her into a spin. She's had enough practice, so she doesn't bungle it like she thought she would when they started. _It's this anxiety. Where did it come from?_ "What made you think I'd be good at it?"

"You like complicated, annoying rhythms. I assumed this was right up your alley," she says.

He smirks. "You're not wrong. I do enjoy it, but I'm not the best at it."

"You can't be the best at something when we only practice it for a month."

He shrugs, and he leads her into a crossover. Katniss tries not to think too hard, following the pressure of his hand.

"Madame Corinne always has something to critique, and she still doesn't like me." He half-smiles, adding, "I'm sure you'll think I'm being arrogant when I say I try to be the best in class."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not surprised. Should I be disappointed that you're _not_ the best?"

He feigns a wince. "No. It'd pain my ego too much."

Katniss holds back a smile. "I guess you'll just have to show me how good you are."

The challenging glint that takes over his eye makes her palms sweat uncomfortably. Her stomach quivers as his hold tightens just a little bit.

"I guess I'll have to."

The tone between them shifts slightly. She can't help but compare his method to the other boys she's danced with—the nuances, how they hold themselves, the push and the pull with the melodies of the band playing in the background. They fall into an easy cadence with each other, and once Katniss is comfortable with not embarrassing herself, she says, "I haven't seen you in the forest."

"I didn't want you to beat me up if I crossed over to your side," he says, and she can just detect the joking in his tone.

She thinks for a moment. "It's not my style to beat up brutes."

"I can't help my size."

"You don't lift weights in your spare time?"

"What's spare time?"

She smiles briefly, but immediately steels her face. She should feel unsettled by this banter between them. She should be suspicious. He may seem decent, but his smile is too pretty. He is still Gale Hawthorne, part of the "crème de la crème" outcropping of older boys, the one who needed to be chopped down to size. In spite of Katniss's immediate feelings of rebellion against any and all boys that fit his outward profile, it's because she knows him a little better now—and she's come to the internal, secret, chilling realization that she cares about what he thinks of her. The nerves inside of her have branded that thought across her forehead. She can despise him because of that, but why would she when that is ultimately her own, selfish problem?

"Have you noticed how this music is different?" he asks her. "There's more…something, to it. More life. More pulse."

She has noticed it. The music does have a pulse. It does have life. The instruments bang out hearty beats, and they ricochet from the floor and into her feet. It's heavy vibration, as if it's trying to break up the rigid knots in their bodies, keeping them inside the flow of the musical stream.

It's what she enjoys, she thinks. Not necessarily the dance by itself, but the music that surrounds them. It fills up her chest and expands her insides.

"Yes," she says. "It's…nice."

He seems amused at her answer. "Nice?"

She shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah. I don't know. I can feel the vibrations up through my chest."

He agrees. "Me too. I love it." Then he grimaces. "They want us to love it, too. I don't want to love it because of that, but…I can't help it."

She glances along the walls to the Peacekeepers. She's surprised that she hasn't thought about or looked at them all night, so absorbed in the activity. If it's some kind of brainwashing or conditioning, they've done a great job with it. Katniss doesn't think she has it in her to not enjoy it, even a little bit.

"Why fight it if you like it?" she asks. "We're lucky enough to get music, even if it's because Snow is allowing us to have it."

"That's true," he says, still grimacing. "This is my last year."

Katniss blinks. The song ends, and the band players switch around, getting ready for the next round. Katniss realizes she hasn't used any of her three sit-outs, and she isn't dying to use one.

"Your last year?" she repeats, but she knew that. He's a year older. His last dance will be the celebration dance of this year, if he manages to squeak by getting pulled out of the lottery pot.

"I'm trying to make the most of it. I'll probably miss it. Weird to think I'll actually miss something from our school years."

She opens her mouth, and there is still a minute before the next song comes on.

_Remember,_ a part of her says. _He's Gale Hawthorne, and you care about what he thinks. Do you really want to keep dancing with him? _

"Do you…" she tries. It's difficult. "Would you like to—"

"Gale!" A girl comes up from behind her, warping to Katniss's side. "I've been looking for you. Would you like to dance?"

Katniss sizes her up, trying and failing not to compare. She's smiling brilliantly, and it hurts Katniss's cheeks just thinking about how much stretching it would take to get her mouth so wide.

"Oh, hey, Christina," Gale answers, and Katniss's eyes catch his for a moment. For a brief flash, he seems uncertain, so Katniss makes the decision for him. She turns on her heel and darts straight to the mostly empty seats lining the wall.

It's silly of her to even contemplate.

She watches Gale and the girl dance for a minute before Peeta comes to sit beside her not long after she takes her roost. He smiles at her. It's easy for her to smile back.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks.

"A lot," he says. "I was worried about this dance at first, but I think this one is my favorite," he says, shrugging. "Who knew?"

Katniss nods. "Never did I think I'd actually like dancing—or admit it."

"Well, sometimes you have to give things a chance before you knock them," he says. "Things can grow on you."

Katniss purses her lips at that. She glances up to Gale and his partner again before hurriedly looking elsewhere.

"Maybe you're right," she says.

Her and Peeta dance the last dance of the evening, and she can feel the continuous improvement between them. Peeta spins her without hesitation, and she counts out the steps in her mind. He's more confident, now, and Katniss thinks he'll be one of the people to find his wife in one of these dances, carrying her away into the music.

Katniss is a bit saddened when the music is gone, the band packing up their rusty and beautiful instruments. She stands in the emptying auditorium, watches them for a minute, and tries to memorize the way the objects look—curved shapes with strings and a long, wooden neck, a metal, amorphous horn-like structure with knobs, barrels with a thin, bouncy cover stretched over the top with sticks—and wonders how things so disfigured could create something that could deeply reverberate within her.

"Hey," Gale says behind her. She pivots in surprise.

"Hi."

"I meant to dance with you on the last one," he says, and it sounds apologetic though there is no reason for it. "You were already dancing."

She blinks, frowning. "You don't have to dance with me at all."

He examines her, eyeing her face like he's digging under the layers. "Like I said before," he says after a moment. "I want to."

The words are so direct, Katniss is unsure how to respond.

"Next time, then," she says, swallowing. "For your last dance."

He smiles at this, and it's serene and soft, and it reverberates into her like the instruments, like a crescendo in a song. "Can I ask you something?"

Suspicious and wary, she nods.

He scoffs a laugh, looking away from her for a moment. For the first time in possibly ever, Katniss sees doubt in his face and his feet as he shifts his weight.

"Would you consider dancing with me for the entirety of the dance?"

Katniss opens her mouth, not exactly understanding. "What?"

He smiles uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "Dance with me the whole time."

"That's…two hours of dancing," she says.

Gale only shrugs, and his face abruptly transforms into a mask of apathy, hiding the doubt and discomfort. "I know."

She's possessed. She must be. She says, "Okay."

His arms are tense and corded. She can see it under the thin fabric of his shirt, as if he's waiting for her to pull the carpet from underneath him. His chest rises in a breath. "Okay?"

She nods slowly. "Yes."

A small, close-lipped smile graces his features, and she can hear that distant song again, settling on her like flurries of snow. The manic, chaotic, alive song they danced to together.

"I'll see you, then," he says. His voice, she swears, is an octave lower. "Wear something pretty, like always."

With that, he leaves her standing there in the middle of the auditorium. Some of the couples are still around, sucking face. Some are slowly departing from one another. Others are holding hands and leave together.

The bundle of nerves living in the deep, dark pit of her stomach birth into a stampede of butterflies. She's sickened by the thought, but it strikes her profoundly that he's noticed the dresses she's worn.

_Like always._

She grimaces. Then she smiles.


	6. rhumba

a/n; One more chapter after this one, ladies and gents. Thank you for the reviews!

Chapter Six: year two, dance three – rhumba

* * *

Madame Corinne is not as sentimental this year as she was the last. Their first dance practice back, and it's right down to business.

The next dance is called a rhumba. Madame Corinne rolls her 'r' every time she says it, and it's obvious that she enjoys saying it as much as she enjoys dancing it.

It's not complicated. The steps aren't complex and counting is not hard. The only thing that Katniss is concerned about is how exaggerated the hip motions are throughout. Madame Corinne comes up from behind her multiple times, grasping the ridges of her waist and pushing them right and left with enough force that Katniss thinks she'll topple to the side.

Katniss feels silly most of the time and ridiculous the other parts of the time. When she laughs at her practicing partners attempts at swaying his hips, all stilted and uncoordinated, she is reprimanded with the force of a hurricane. Madame Corinne even puts her in timeout, as if they're eight years old.

"I will not condone teasing or ridicule against any of you lovely young adults!" she says. "You may laugh, but only if it's with one another, not at one another."

The boy she laughed at gives her a look of apology, gesturing with a helpless shrug. Katniss shrugs back, shaking her head.

"What crawled up her ass, today?" Madge asks, coming up to her after that first practice. "She's never been so bent out of shape at laughter before. You'd think dancing was some sort of religious art to her."

"It probably is," Katniss says, her lips plucking up in a small smile. "Maybe she's trying to ignore the upcoming Reaping. Remember how weepy she was last year? I think I like this attitude on her better."

"You're right about that," Madge says. "Tears give me hives."

At the next few practices, Peeta steps in to be her partner. It's funny that they've never really been practice partners before.

"I don't think it's natural for guys to move their hips like this," he says as they go through the box step sequence. Katniss has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. After a while, it becomes too much for her to handle.

"Peeta," she gasps, face red. "It looks like you're convulsing."

"It _feels_ like I'm convulsing."

She snickers, trying to catch her breath. "This is so—I can't—we're going to be put in time out!"

Peeta begins to laugh, which causes her to laugh, and their shoulders are both shaking uncontrollably when Madame Corinne comes around to break up their humor.

Like with every dance they do, they somehow get better. Katniss swears it's a miracle each and every time.

"She drugged us while we slept," Madge says as an explanation.

Peeta shakes his head. "She implanted a dance chip in our brains."

"You're both wrong," Katniss says. "She sprinkles fairy dust on us at every practice."

Madge snaps her fingers. "No wonder I shine so bright when I get home in the evenings."

Peeta grins. "Madge, that's just you. You're always shining."

Katniss stares on in disbelief when Madge's neck turns pink.

"I think all of those yeasty fumes have gone to your head, Mellark," Madge retorts, but Peeta only maintains his grin.

Katniss looks back and forth between them, wondering when she missed this.

_Probably when you were thinking about Gale, _her traitorous mind replies. Regardless, Katniss can't help but feel a kind of relief. For a while, she thought Peeta might want more than friendship, but looking between them and walking with them, she feels…light. Not happy. No. That's too heavy a word, too meaningful.

But light. Yes. That sounded right.

As it gets nearer and nearer to Reaping Day, Madame Corinne decides that they've all mastered the rhumba (a lie in all aspects, Katniss isn't sure who she's trying to fool) and encourages them to practice all of the other dances they've learned over the two years.

"What would have been the point if you forgot everything I taught you?" she clucks at them. "The two-step is child's play. Let's see if you all can show me how to waltz."

They go through them every other practice. The waltz is first, then the foxtrot, the tango, and the salsa. Going back to the earlier dances makes Katniss feel like a pro, weirdly enough. They aren't nearly as headache-inducing as they were the first time around. The students become bolder, too, adding more steps, and converting from unoriginal beginners to—dare she say it—creative amateurs. Madame Corinne is thrilled when she notices, and she yaps on and on about it, encouraging them to continue with their newly forming insights.

"You're making me so proud!" she'll exclaim on some days. "No, no, no! That is _not_ a tango!" she'll scream on others.

Her personality blares at them the closer and closer the dance gets. One would think her life depended on it.

"I'm sure it does," Madge says, a few days before the Reaping. "I'm sure there must be a consequence for her if we all decided to rebel and stop dancing."

"Well, then it's a good thing everyone loves it," Peeta says. Katniss opens her mouth to rebut the statement, but he interjects, "I don't care what you say. Both of you enjoy the dances as much as any other girl."

Katniss's mouth twists in a grimace. Madge rolls her eyes but remains impassive.

"What makes it fun is enjoying the partners you dance with," Madge answers, surprising Katniss. "Shitty partners make for a shitty time."

"Good thing I've been practicing, eh?" Peeta quips, and Madge nonchalantly shakes her head.

"I guess we'll see if you can keep from stepping on my toes next time."

"That was only once!"

Katniss smiles watching them carrying on. Madge is quite sardonic and sarcastic, and Peeta is upbeat and quirky. Who knew they'd get along so well.

"And what about Gale?" Madge starts, redirecting the conversation.

Katniss is not ready for this. She stutters.

"What do you mean?"

Madge levels her with her eyes. "Don't give me that, Katniss. You know exactly what I mean."

Katniss wants to snarl and get defensive, but their looks wear her down and she bites her lip. "He's…good at dancing."

"Madge tells me he's very obnoxious and makes her want to gag all the time," Peeta laughs. Madge crosses her arms.

"He's definitely not my favorite person," she says.

Katniss doesn't know what else to do but shrug. "He can be arrogant, and at the beginning I hated his guts," she says slowly. "But…I don't know. He's not as terrible as I thought he'd be. He's not hard to talk to. He even seeks me out to ask me to dance."

"It almost sounds like he wants to get to know you," Peeta teases her, grinning.

Katniss's involuntarily thinks about when he asked her to dance with him the entirety of the next dance, and how pleased he seemed to be, smiling at her. Her neck heats up.

She hasn't told either of them about his proposal or her acceptance. She's not sure how to admit to it.

"It sounds like he might even like you," says Madge, in her sarcastic way, but when Katniss looks up at her, she's smiling her small smile with the edges of her lips upturned. "Shocking."

Katniss opens her mouth but doesn't know what to say under their full attention. "It's…weird," she says honestly.

"Weird that a boy likes you? Or that it's that douchebag Hawthorne?" Madge asks, and Katniss nearly laughs.

"I don't know," she answers. "Both?"

Madge hums. "Yeah, if a boy liked me, especially Gale Hawthorne, I'm sure I'd drop dead."

Katniss blinks at the statement. "But aren't you and Pe—"

Peeta takes that moment to loudly and aggressively clear his throat. "I've got to hurry, or my mother will tan my hide if I'm late. I'll let you guys finish your girl talk on your own," he says, and then he scurries away.

They both watch him go, and Katniss turns to her immediately. "Wait, you know he likes you, don't you?"

Madge's reaction is to snort. "Maybe in a million years."

"No, seriously, he really likes—"

"Did you know that he liked you for a long time?" Madge interrupts. Katniss gapes at her.

"What?"

"Sure he did," she says, smiling superiorly. Katniss narrows her eyes.

"Don't change the subject! He likes you!"

Madge shrugs one shoulder. "Whatever," she says, and she goes to hook her arm with Katniss's. "C'mon. Let's go raid my mom's closet and see what dresses we'll wear."

Katniss sighs, but allows herself to be carried off by Madge. She decides to let the topic go. Madge is too good at avoiding conversations she doesn't want.

* * *

Katniss is, somehow, even more nervous this time than the last time.

_Grow up, _she berates herself. _It's just a stupid dance. _

A stupid dance where she'd only be dancing with Gale. She fidgets, fingering her hem. Why in the world did she agree to this?

_Because you like him_, the traitorous part of her blurts. Her lips crumple into a frown. A hand reaches up to her hair, unconsciously fiddling with the metal beret Madge forced her to wear. It's a tiny, little mockingjay, holding back a grand total of three strands of her hair.

"Gale will love this," Madge had said, mostly in jest. Katniss could not conceal her discomfort whenever he was brought up into the conversation, and Madge latched on to that fact quickly.

Madge also picked out the dress for her. It's a midnight blue. It makes her eyes pop, according to Madge. It's a halter top, and it hugs her tighter around her hips than the previous dresses, but overall, it's comfortable. The skirt swirls around her legs when she walks, and it makes her feel…girly. Girly in a good way, if that's even possible.

Gale must pick her out as soon as he arrives into the auditorium, because he comes up to her not five minutes after the dance starts. He smiles when she looks up at him.

"Hey," he says.

Katniss has never felt so panicked at a simple greeting before. "Hi."

He shifts his weight. "Will you still dance with me?"

Katniss furrows her brow. "I said I would."

"I know," he says. "I just…wasn't sure if you'd change your mind."

Katniss's immediate reaction is to feel offended, but how is he supposed to know that she never goes back on her word? Before she can say anything, she begins to notice that he looks uncertain. He's smirking, but there's an energy about him. He seems…

She blinks. It dons on her that he's _nervous._ Well concealed, but nervous all the same. She can see it in his shoulders and the way that he's holding himself, covered around the lines of his face like coal dust. Her offensiveness abruptly vanishes. She almost smiles.

"Scared I'd reject you, Hawthorne?" she hears herself say.

He opens his mouth, pauses, and then laughs. "Maybe a little."

His honesty strikes a chord of fondness within her. She holds out her hand. "No reason to be," she says. "It's your last dance, after all."

He takes it, leading her toward the floor.

"Glad to hear it," he says, placing his other hand on her hip while she places hers on his shoulder. His hand feels different on her hip with the tightness of the fabric—the pressure of his fingers is more prominent. She tries not to let it get to her.

They fall into the rhythm of a waltz, the beats of music slow and steady as if the musicians are warming up, too.

"Your hair is down," he observes after a moment.

"Something different," she says. In truth, it was another one of Madge's off-hand statements. _You should wear your hair down,_ she had said, then had given her the beret. It did feel very strange, however, her hair shifting around her neck just like the movement of the dress around her legs. There are a lot of new sensations tonight, it seems.

"It looks nice," Gale says. Katniss tries not to be awkward with the compliment, but she averts her eyes to his chest. It makes her notice, not for the first time, that Gale is dressed nicely, as well. His shirt feels new under her hand, still not broken in, and it's buttoned up to his collarbones. He has on dress pants, which is the norm, except they are died black instead of their usual khaki.

"I like your shirt," she answers back, somewhat lamely. _Stop being weird,_ she thinks. "It's my favorite color."

"Green?" He raises a brow. "I guess I picked a good shirt, then."

"Is it new?"

"Yeah. My mom made it," he shrugs. "I didn't want her to, but she said it was for the last dance. I should look presentable."

Katniss allows a small smile. "Ah, she must have known you'd be dancing with me."

Gale turns a bit sheepish at that, half-smiling. "Actually, yes. She did know."

Katniss blinks. "Oh."

"What about you? I think you've worn a different dress every time I've seen you."

"They're all Madge's. I only have one dress, but she's been nice enough to let me borrow her own," she says.

"Madge Undersee?" Gale asks. "The mayor's daughter?"

"The one and only."

He looks thoughtful. "I don't think she likes me. I mean, I don't like her very much either, so I guess it's mutual."

Katniss nearly laughs. "Very mutual."

"So you know?"

Katniss shrugs. "Madge isn't very vocal about things, but she loves to talk about the things she hates."

He shakes his head. "She sounds fun."

At this, Katniss actually laughs. "She really is. I know you don't believe it, but she's a good friend."

He looks at her for a moment. "Is that why you didn't like me?"

"Because of Madge?" Katniss says. "I've never really thought about it. It might have influenced me, but I came up with an opinion all on my own."

Gale mulls that over for a while, and they fall into a silence that is easy and calm. Eventually, Gale says, "How did you make your opinion on me? I hadn't talked to you before that first dance."

"Yes, you did," Katniss says, almost immediately. "You called me 'Catnip' in the forest, once."

Gale is surprised. "I did. Was that—"

"I was—"

They both stop talking and look at each other. Katniss feels herself begin to blush.

"That was your first impression of me," Gale tries, once they are both silent for a moment

"Yes…" Katniss cautions. "I…mumbled. You misheard me, and I hated it, and you laughed, and I was…I was embarrassed."

Gale seems to be surprised again. "I didn't know you were embarrassed. I thought you just wanted me to leave you alone."

Katniss smiles sheepishly. "Yes, well, that too."

"You immediately didn't like me."

Katniss opens her mouth, looking up at him. He is looking at her curiously.

"You were…a surprise," she begins, hoping she knows what she's trying to say. "Meeting you in the forest was a shock to me. I wasn't expecting—" she shakes her head. "I heard rumors about you in school. Madge would tell me about your visits to her house…" Katniss omits the unsavory adjectives that Madge would have said. Awful, tragic, terrible—though Madge will never admit that she adores the strawberries. "I knew I'd compete with you in the Hob. Some days were worse than others. I only knew you from a distance, but I heard so many things about you—" arrogant, flirtatious, self-absorbed, conceited are the ones that come to mind—"that I assumed they were true."

Gale frowns progressively, and it seems as if he's a bit disappointed.

"What kinds of things have been said about me?"

Katniss isn't sure if he's asking to make her say them, or if he's truly unaware and wanting to know. "Oh…um, you know. All kinds of things."

Gale seems to be well aware, if the wry smirk is any indication. "I've made quite a reputation for myself, haven't I?"

Katniss blurts, "Yes, you have."

Gale smiles at her. "It's my own fault. I did nothing to stop them."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know," he says. "I guess I liked the attention."

_Self-absorbed_, her mind emphasizes, but his tone is facetious. He isn't being serious.

"It was…wrong of me," she says after a moment. "To think I knew all about you."

"No," Gale says. "I'm sure whatever has been said about me has some merit to it. I am arrogant. I do flirt. I would say I'm not all bad, but you can decide that on your own."

Katniss watches him, smiling faintly at his words. His shoulders have gotten stiff as they've been talking about him. His eyes aren't glowing as they had when he had first seen her that evening. He looks like he's guarding himself, somehow, and it's only because she's so up-close to him that she can tell.

"I'm sure there are some redeeming qualities about you," she says, and she's surprised at her own words. She means them. "You are wearing a green shirt, so that's a plus."

She lures a smile out of him. "Tell me, Katniss. Besides your favorite color, what else do you like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anything," he says. "Tell me about you. I don't know much except that you hunt, and you're sarcastic and blunt, you're stubborn, and you're…" his eyes rove over her hair, and it's hard to tell if he blushes. "I don't know," he says, trailing off in a mumble. "Like I said, I don't know much."

Katniss isn't sure she's ever been asked such direct questions before. She doesn't know where to start, so she picks the easiest thing first—her sister.

She tells him all about Prim. Prim is her whole world, after all. Gale talks to her about his siblings, too, prompted by her narrative about everything her and Prim do together. They talk about their favorite spots in the forest, their hunting specialties, the best bargain they've ever gotten. And, oddly enough, their silences in between conversation are just as comfortable as the conversations themselves.

The songs change, and it feels like an almost continuous thing. They seem to just start a song before the tune changes, and the tempo speeds up or slows down. Katniss can't keep up with how fast the time is flying. Time has never moved so fast, before. They go through a tango, a waltz, another tango, and a salsa before Katniss realizes they're halfway over with the dance. During the small intermission between dances, Katniss voices her disbelief.

"I've wanted every dance to pass by this fast," Katniss says. "I can't believe it's actually happening."

"Time flies when you're having fun," Gale says, grinning at her. She only shakes her head and rolls her eyes at him.

"I wouldn't say fun, exactly…"

"You're not running away, so I think that's as good a sign as any."

Katniss smiles but doesn't answer, glancing around at the dance floor. She's neglected her people watching, this time, and she tries to pick out Peeta and Madge from the masses. She wonders—and, strangely, hopes—that they've been spending most of their time dancing together, too.

When it sounds like the band is about to begin their next song, Gale clears his throat. Katniss looks up at him.

"You know, if there's someone you'd like to dance with, you can tell me. I didn't mean to make you feel obligated or forced. I know I asked you for the whole dance, but that's a bit much, isn't it?" He runs his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He averts his eyes.

Katniss turns and looks around the bobbing heads one last time before she realizes what he's telling her. "Oh, no I'm just looking around for Madge. I meant to keep tabs to see if Peeta would continue asking her to dance."

Gale looks up at this, his shoulders straightening into their full, broad posturing. "Bakery boy and Madge? I can help you look. I'm taller, so I can see more people."

Katniss smiles before she thinks of something. "Did you want to dance with someone else?"

"Are you kidding?" Gale says, and he seems to be paying only half-attention, his eyes scouting the room. "Of course not."

At the words, an unsettling, warm rush of feeling enters her stomach like goo.

"Hey, I see them," he says, and he grabs her hand. "Want to dance by them?"

Katniss imagines Madge's eyes dissecting her every movement, mocking words being flown at her. Sounds like a nightmare. She can watch Madge from a distance and annoy her with how girly she was acting with Peeta later.

"No," Katniss says. "Right here is fine. I just want to get enough information so I can use it against her later."

Gale raises an eyebrow at her. "Blackmail?"

Katniss laughs at this. "It's more like teasing. She teases me about you all the time. I have to get back at her, somehow."

They fall into the next dance, and it's only when they start moving that Katniss realizes what she said aloud. Gale is giving her a funny look.

"Um," she says dumbly.

"She teases you about me?"

She swallows under his stare, averting her eyes. "Only because she saw us dance last time."

"What'd she think? That it was the worst thing that you could ever do?" he says, smiling.

"You're pretty spot on," Katniss says, relaxing when she sees his smile. "She was disappointed in me, since I always swore I wouldn't like you for all eternity."

Gale raises an amused eyebrow at her. "Oh, so you're beginning to like me."

Katniss opens her mouth before coloring. "Well, er, Madge thinks so, but I'm sure she thinks you're brainwashing me, somehow."

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you that I'm really good at manipulation."

Katniss laughs. "It's these stupid dances. Everyone seems to be…changing. The tone of the classes at school are different. Madge is adamant that she won't be one of the ones to fall into the trap—you know, I think she's as paranoid as you are about this whole dancing thing."

"I've noticed, too," he says. "People are beginning to come together. I have a feeling half of my class will be pairing off indefinitely after tonight." He shrugs. "I can't say it bothers me, but you're right. I am paranoid about it all. What it'll lead to, and why they decided to do this. But…" he trails, thinking. "Even if it's to pacify us, I can't help but like the idea that it's fostering community and possibly…love, in the end." He doesn't look at her as he says it, glancing around her toward the other couples around them.

The simple word strikes Katniss, niggling under her skin.

"Yes," she says quietly. "Maybe it'll end up being a good thing, after all."

Gale glances over her head, off to the side. His eye catches on something, and he begins to smirk. "Well, it sounds like Madge talks a lot of game, but I don't think she avoided the _trap_."

Katniss follows his gaze, and her mouth nearly unhinges to the floor.

"Holy hell," she gasps.

She didn't think it would actually happen—but there it is. Peeta and Madge are kissing in the middle of the dance floor, and Madge doesn't look like she hates it. In fact, she's contributing. Significantly.

"Looks like you'll have a lot of ammo for teasing her later," Gale says, amusement coating his words.

Katniss shakes her head, a slow smile filling her face. "I can't believe it. She actually let it happen."

"Peeta must be a hell of a dancer," Gale says.

"He's not."

Gale laughs at that. Katniss is startled by its deep rumble, then she directs her smile at him.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say bakery boy is crazy for having a thing for the stuck-up, bitchy mayor's daughter," Gale says, glancing back to her. "But that would be hypocritical."

Katniss shakes her head. She can't seem to stop smiling. She glances back to her friends. Madge's cheeks are very pink, and Peeta looks very pleased with himself. "Very hypocritical." She turns back to him. "You know, I bet you and Madge would get along really well if you actually took the time to get to know each other."

"I'll take your word for it," he says. "She's your friend, so she probably can't be all that terrible."

"See, now you're learning."

He smiles. "So, how long?"

"How long?"

"Peeta and Madge," he clarifies.

Katniss frowns. "I've known them for a while now, but I didn't notice them really begin to like each other until recently. I don't know if I am bad at noticing things, or if they were good at hiding it."

Gale looks at her for a while. "Maybe both." He shrugs. "It's not easy to show true feelings, especially here," he says. "But that's changing, like we mentioned before. Everywhere I look, people are showing more and doing more for one another. I feel like it's becoming harder to internalize what you want. At least," he admits. "That's what's happening to me."

Their eyes catch. Katniss has wondered about this, too. "Falling into the trap," as Madge calls it. Letting herself ease into the feelings she swore she wouldn't allow herself to feel. And how, now, it doesn't sound so detrimental to dip into the emotions, to allow the flow of it cascade around her like a gentle storm.

It's what she already feels, she thinks, in the warmth of his palm on her hip, in her hair blanketing her neck, in the sashaying of her dress across her knees.

"Whatever it is," Katniss says quietly. "I'm happy they're allowing this for themselves. I had a feeling Peeta would find someone through this."

"What about you?" Gale asks, and the music begins to dim, once more. The beat is unhurried and languid, their feet slowing into the steps of a relaxed waltz.

Katniss shakes her head at the question, becoming anxious again. "Oh, I don't know. I've never seen myself finding anyone."

"What about getting married? Having a family?"

"I've never seen that for myself, nor have I ever wanted to," she answers. "Do you?"

"Yes," he says. "Family is what has brought me the most joy in this life. I think creating my own would be the next best thing. My mother and father loved each other very much, and to find that here is possible." He looks at her, and the flicker of passion and hope is back—the one she saw briefly the first time they danced. "I like the idea of it. There's something pure about it. It's…untainted. It's just love between two people."

Katniss isn't sure how to respond, so she doesn't. She lets his words sink in to her skin, because it is a nice idea—it's a pretty dream. But her parents loved each other, too, and her mother succumbed to a despairing grief that they still live through, and—

"Is it worth it?" she asks, the words spilling out. She shakes her head. "I mean, is it worth the pain when you lose them?"

Gale doesn't miss a beat with the question. "Yes. It has been for me. The pain of loss will always be there and you can't avoid it, but knowing my father and loving him is irreplaceable. But…" he pauses, looking over her. "Maybe it isn't for everyone."

They are silent for a while, quiet under the umbrella of the soft, leisurely music. Katniss feels herself relaxing closer into him, and she soon realizes that their sides are touching, and they aren't waltzing but swaying together.

"After this…" he says, at length. "Do you think you'll change your mind?"

After this? She doesn't know. She hardly believed she could ever feel emotions like she has over the past two years. She never thought she'd be this physically close to Gale Hawthorne, with her nose nearly hitting his collar. Talking about love and loss and the possibilities of the future. Not in a million years.

"I don't know. I might consider it," she says after a few thoughtful minutes. "If I feel strongly enough about it. If I…find someone."

"I hope you do," he says, and she's frightened to ask him which part he hopes—her considering it, finding someone, changing her mind, or all three.

"Do you think you'll find someone through this?" she asks.

A sigh runs from his chest into hers, and he says quietly, "I think you know that answer, Katniss."

His hands are gentle as they cup her hips. His words are soft and prodding, and yet she feels foolish. She feels uncertain. And amidst all of it, she feels…

Hopeful.

"I…I'm not sure…"

"You don't have to say anything," he says. "I don't expect you to."

She looks up to his face, and she's jolted again by their proximity. She can see the gleaming, silver freckles in his irises. She's ensconced by their intermingled bundle of warmth. Her eyes fall in line with his lips, and she hurriedly looks to the side. Her cheeks burn, and he smiles.

The music ends a short time later, and it's so soon. Katniss regrets when the lights come on overhead, signifying the termination of dancing for four more months, and she can no longer admonish herself for the regret.

They remain in their positions for a while, her hands around his neck, his hands on her waist, standing in the silence of the auditorium. They are like those other couples Katniss has seen over the last few rounds, standing around with each other, not wanting to leave. She'd laugh if her heart wasn't beating so rapidly.

"I have to thank you," he says. "This…was my favorite dance."

"Yes," Katniss says. "Mine, too."

They linger and stare. Eventually, Gale begins to release her, and Katniss follows his lead. She brings her hands down to her sides.

"Can I walk you out?" he asks. He tentatively holds out his hand.

Katniss looks at it. Perhaps she should say no, she thinks, but this could also be the last time she will see him—he will go to the mines, and she will take care of her family, and they've never sought the other in the real world outside of the dance.

She stops thinking about it. She places her hand in his and is, for one of the first times in her life, content.

He leads her out into the cool night air, and he pauses outside the entrance. He glances over to her, and he seems to make a decision.

"Can I take you somewhere? I want to show you something."

Katniss looks at their hands. "It's not the slag heap, is it?"

He laughs a little, and he rubs a hand against the back of his head. "Actually, yes." At her alarmed look, he continues, "But not—I don't—I know what some of the girls have said about me…"

Katniss raises her brows at him, and he deflates a little.

"You may not believe it, but I've only kissed two girls there. Nothing else. It's a nice area to get away, to be alone." He shrugs. "There's some sense of privacy there, and it's not…you know, illegal."

Katniss drops his hand, crossing her arms over her belly. "I don't know…"

"Just this one last thing," he says, and his tone is on the edge of desperate. He masks the emotion on his face—he seems as impassive as ever—but his curled fist gives him away. "It won't be long. You…might not even care for it. And you can leave. I just wanted…" he struggles with his words. "I wanted more time."

He's genuine. Strangely, Katniss thinks absently, that he's been genuine in all of their conversations.

Her hand curls around his again, and he looks surprised. He covers it with a soft smile.

"Okay," she says. "No funny business."

"I'll try to keep my hands to myself."


	7. something new

a/n; This is the end! Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoyed this little piece as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter Seven: something new

* * *

The walk is not long. Under the shelter of night, it's almost like a dream.

Gale takes a seat near the base of the refuse hill, but far away enough to avoid staining their clothing. Katniss follows suit, taking a seat beside him. She waits expectantly for him to show her whatever it is that he brought her for.

"So?" she asks. "What is it?"

He clears his throat. "I've found that the stars are brighter here than anywhere else in the District. The trees in the forest hide them, and the Hob has too many lights." He leans his head back, gesturing above them.

Katniss blinks. "The stars?"

He shrugs. "I like to come out here when I can't sleep."

Katniss stares up at the night sky, the overwhelming number of stars flooding into her vision, making her dizzy.

"I didn't think you'd enjoy gazing at stars," she says softly.

"I think they're beautiful," he says, looking at her. "A bit ridiculous, I know, but, ah…" He scoffs a laugh. "I've never told anyone."

Katniss tries to quell the swelling occurring in her chest, but finds it's impossible. "It's not ridiculous."

He lies back, his body fully on the ground, his arms sprawled out to the sides. "You don't have to say that. It's a stupid habit. I think it's because I'm going to the mines soon, and looking at something so vast…helps."

She allows herself to sidle up beside him, and he tenses in surprise before he relaxes.

"I get it," she says. "I really don't think it's stupid. I've never taken the time to notice."

The endless bundle of lights twinkle down at them. Katniss is suddenly overwhelmed, the vertigo hitting her right between the eyes. She feels weightless, like gravity's fingers release her from earth. For a moment, she's falling into the night sky.

She takes a breath, steadying her mind.

"Makes you wonder what's out there, doesn't it?" he whispers. "Like maybe there's another universe, without districts and dictators and Reapings."

It's a fanciful thought—one she's never had before. With as many swirling stars that hang above them, as many bursts of bright colors and streaks in the sky, it's hard for her to fathom there _isn't_ another universe out there, beyond their reaches.

"Another world," she whispers. "How amazing would that be?"

She finds she likes listening to Gale and his ideas. She's never been very open minded, and he makes her think about things she wouldn't otherwise.

After a while in silence, Gale says, "My father taught me how to find constellations before he died. I think that's why I like stars so much, too."

"Constellations?" Katniss asks.

"Yeah," he tells her. "They're different shapes stars make, like drawings. Some can give you direction if you're lost. Like…see that collection right there? It looks like a box?"

Katniss follows the line of his arm, her eyes trying to find where his finger is pointing. "I think so."

"And those stars right there, off that corner? It's called the Big Dipper. That bright star at the end is called the North Star, so you can find it if you lose your direction and orient yourself."

"The Big Dipper and North Star," Katniss repeats, eyeing the stars and memorizing their positions. She lets her head rest on Gale's shoulder, and finds it's easier to follow where he's pointing this way. She feels him stiffen under her for a moment before he relaxes.

He tells her about the Great Bear, which is a bigger constellation that holds the Big Dipper. He shows her Orion, which is a hunter.

"He's holding a bow. Do you see it? The line of stars to the right."

Katniss eyes the line of them and smiles. It takes a bit of imagination, but she can see them, lined up with a telltale convexity. "Yes, I see it."

"It's my favorite," Gale says. "Reminds me of you."

He says it forthrightly, without any pause as he continues with the next constellation, but Katniss looks at the side of his face, wondering if he even really knew what he said. Her stomach curls in on itself, and she watches the line of his jaw move as he tells her next about the Seated Queen, and how it looks like a misshapen W.

The last one he shows her is the Great Dog. It takes her a while to figure out how it's a dog.

"Is that supposed to be the tail?" she asks, and Gale starts chuckling at her measly attempts to see it.

"So the head is supposed to be there…" he says. "It makes a triangle."

Katniss is squinting. "You mean _that_?"

Gale laughs. "Yeah, see? The angle is funny, so the dog is upside down."

"Now you tell me."

He laughs some more, and she can hear it reverberating in his chest. It covers her with warmth, and it shocks her with how soothing it feels.

"Sorry. I'm not very good at explaining."

"No, you're not," she says, laying a hand on his stomach. "But that's doesn't bother me too much."

His smile seems to disappear at the touch of her hand, and he glances down to it. Oddly enough, he looks just as much out of his depth as she feels, and it surprises her because he's supposed to be used to things like girls placing their hands on him, isn't he? This reaction only tells her much more of how wrong she was in assuming.

He clears his throat, and if she concentrates she thinks she can feel the thunder of his heartbeat push into her palm.

"Good," he says, "Because I've never been too good at explaining anything."

They lay for a moment, and Katniss listens to the soft sounds of the night.

"Is this what you do with the girls you bring here? Teach them about the constellations and how you like to gaze at the stars?"

She's mostly teasing him, but she feels him shift uncomfortably underneath her.

"I know you probably won't believe me, but…no. Actually, you're the first one I've talked to about the constellations. And the star gazing—it's kind of embarrassing. And to be completely honest…" he trails for a moment, sighing. "The two other girls I brought here didn't much care for talking."

Katniss thinks on this for a moment. "No, I believe you," she says. "Girls like to start rumors. They always made me think you liked to get with as many girls as you could."

She can see him frown out of the corner of her eyes. "I…flirt a lot. Or, I _did_ flirt a lot. I always thought it was harmless. I know I already told you, but when girls started to notice me, I…thought it was fun. I've made out with a few—the two girls here at the slag heap and a few others—but never anything serious. And you were right before. I got a big head. I could be an arrogant jackass. I…"

Katniss curls the hand that's on his stomach, and it pauses his spout of words.

"You're not so bad," she says softly. It amazes her at how strongly she feels about that. He's not bad at all. He's kind, and thoughtful, and more of a gentleman than she could have expected.

"I'm glad you tore me down on the night of that first dance," he admits, his chest rising in a sigh. "I needed it. I thought about your words for weeks."

Katniss blinks. "You did?"

"It was hard not to," he says. "Mostly because I knew they were true to a certain extent. And because it was _you_ who told them to me."

Katniss looks up to him, but he's glancing up to the stars. She sees his throat bob in a swallow.

"Why did it matter that it was me who told you?"

"Oh, you know," he says. "When you care about someone's opinion…it affects you more."

Katniss thinks about how his opinion affected her, and she hadn't even known she cared about his opinion in the first place.

She mulls over his words for a while, adjusting her head so that her ear is next to his chest. She can hear his breathing and his heartbeat, and she doesn't think she's been this close to another person who wasn't family. She thinks it should unsettle her, but she feels as though she's not meant to be anywhere else.

Eventually, she says, "Thank you."

She isn't sure why, necessarily, but the words seem right, because he's given her a lot of things this evening that she didn't realize she could want or feel. Her insides burst with overwhelming affection.

"You're welcome," he mumbles. "Thank you for coming with me."

By the time they leave the slag heap, it's nearing midnight. He walks her home, and she allows him to hold her hand the entire way. They don't speak much as they walk, but they don't have to. Katniss is more than content to let the warmth of his hand linger in her own, to steal glances at Gale, and to bask in this feeling just a little longer.

When they arrive at her front door, Gale reluctantly lets go of her hand and stands before her. She holds her hands in front of her, awkward and uncertain of what to do with them now that they're free from his grasp.

"I guess…" he starts, glancing off to the side and running a hand through his hair. "I guess this is goodnight, then."

She smiles a little at how hesitant he seems to be. He has been so vulnerable this entire evening—so unlike how she's perceived him before, and to be able to see him so clearly right now, under the midnight moon.

"I guess it is," she says.

They gaze at each other for a moment longer, before Gale says, "Listen, would you—do you—I mean, would you like to have dinner sometime? We could go to the Hob, and I think we're both on good terms with Sae. I'm starting the mines next week, but we could go whenever I get off, if…if you would like to."

Katniss swells at the question, imagining what it would be like to see him outside of the auditorium, to be with one another just as they had been tonight. It will be different—a different tempo and a different rhythm, but, she thinks, a welcome one all the same.

"I would like to," she answers.

His shoulders fall in relief, and he smiles. "Alright. Then it's—I'll call on you."

She steps forward and stands in front of him. "That sounds just fine."

"Any particular day?"

"Any day works for me."

"Tomorrow, then?" he asks, smiling.

With a streak of the courage she had been lacking, Katniss steps another foot forward and rises on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She nearly kisses the corner of his mouth, but neither seem to mind it.

"Tomorrow," she whispers in agreement.

They linger close, and she's breathing his air again, and she doesn't mind it, _again_. She wonders if he'll kiss her, and the mere thought makes her heart jump.

Instead, he smiles and says, "I'll see you tomorrow, Catnip."

The nickname doesn't even bother her. It's swathed in fondness, and his eyes gleam as he turns away from her, heading home down the road.

The Katniss from two years ago would be disgusted with herself right now, watching Gale Hawthorne leave her with the promise of a date in the near future, with her eyes shining and mind foggy with euphoria. This Katniss who lets herself feel these emotions that were once shoved into a box and put up on the high shelf, not to be disturbed. Now she's wading, half-submerged in this well of emotions, and she isn't dead yet. In fact, she's more alive than she's ever been.

She sighs, and walks through the threshold of her house, sneaking quietly into bed, and looking forward to learning this new dance with Gale. Never did she think she'd look forward to learning a dance, but there it is. A new dance, with one partner she gets to keep for herself.

She guesses Prim was right after all.


End file.
